To know whether photography is or is not an art matters little. What is important is to distinguish between good and bad photography. By good is meant that photography which accepts all the limitations inherent in photographic technique and takes advantage of the possibilities and characteristics th
I cannot, as you [Edward Weston] once proposed to me - solve the problem of life by losing myself in the problem of art ... in my case, life is always struggling to predominate and art naturally suffers.
I cannot solve the problem of life by losing myself in the problem of art.
Photography, precisely because it can only be produced in the present and because it is based on what exists objectively before the camera, takes its place as the most satisfactory medium for registering objective life in all its aspects, and from this comes its documental value. If to this is added
Always, when the words art and artistic are applied to my photographic work, I am disagreeably affected. This is due, surely, to the bad use and abuse made of those terms. I consider myself a photographer, nothing more. If my photographs differ from that which is usually done in this field, it is pr
... I just feel impotent - I don't know which way to start or turn. You know what they say about a prophet in one's own country - well - in a way it works for me too: you see - this might be called my home town - well of all the old friends and acquaintances not one takes me seriously as a photograp
I know that the materials found on the streets is rich and wonderful, but my experience is that the way I am accustomed to work, slowly planning my composition etc. is not suited for such work. By the time I have the composition or expression right, the picture is gone. I guess I want to do the impo
The majority of photographers still seek artistic effects, imitating other mediums of graphic expression. The result is a hybrid product that does not succeed in giving their work the most valuable characteristic it should have, - photographic quality.
I don't believe in marriage. I think at worst it's a hostile political act, a way for small-minded men to keep women in the house and out of the way, wrapped up in the guise of tradition and conservative religious nonsense. At best, it's a happy delusion - these two people who truly love each other
God turns you from one feeling to another and teaches by means of opposites so that you will have two wings to fly, not one
I am like the heaven, like the moon, like a candle by your glow; I am all reason, all love, all soul, by your soul.
We bury our seeds and wait, Winter blocks the road, Flowers are taken prisoner underground, But then green justice tenders a spear
Let your throat-song be clear and strong enough to make an emperor fall full-length suppliant, at the door.
World power means nothing. Only the unsayable, jeweled inner life matters.
I was once like you, enlightened and "rational",I too scoffed at lovers,Now I am drunk, crazed, thin with misery.No one is safe! Watch out.
What hurts you, blesses you. Darkness is your candle.
The ground's generosity takes in our compost and grows beauty! Try to be more like the ground.
We must die to become true human beings.
You've come to know the fortunate and the inauspicious stars, but you don't know whether you yourself are fortunate or lucky.
Your kindness cannot be said. You open doors in the sky. You ease the heart and make God's qualities visible.
You know what love is? It is all kindness, generosity.
You are the Truth from foot to brow. Now, what else would you like to know?
You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.
The way the Beloved can fit in my heart, two thousand lives could fit in this body of mine. One kernel could contain a thousand bushels, and a hundred worlds pass through the eye of the needle.
Inside of us, there's a continual autumn. Our leaves fall and are blown out over the water.
When you resolve to become pious, the devil in your nature cries out at you, "Tread not those paths, O confused one; distress and poverty will overcome you. You will be despised, let down by friends, you will regret it." Dread of the devil has bound their souls; the cries of the devil are the drover
The sweetness and delights of the resting-place are in proportion to the pain endured on the Journey. Only when you suffer the pangs and tribulations of exile will you truly enjoy your homecoming.
Be a lamp, or a lifeboat, or a ladder.
This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival. Welcome and entertain them all!